It Was A Dark And Stormy Night
by Squirrel-ducky
Summary: Follows Hannibal film canon. Dr Lecter has become reckless with his killings after rejection by Starling, but his next victim is more interesting than he had imagined... This is my first attempt at fanfic guys, so don't judge me and please R&R! :)


_[disclaimer - Hannibal belongs to Harris, no copyright infringement intended. Sally is, however all mine :) ]_

It was a dark and stormy night.

Well, it was dark, certainly, but not particularly stormy. In fact, it was quite mild. And for this, Sally was thankful, because their car's heating system was broken and she was clad only in a summer dress and cardigan. From her position, dozing in the back seat, her mother's incessant nagging melted into a high-pitched whine that really was not conducive to sleep. Her father's silhouette in the driver's seat remained stoic, and he did not respond, knowing that his input would only be disregarded.

To drown it out, Sally turned up the volume on her Walkman as far as it would go and buried her head into the window, insofar as that is possible. This meant that she wasn't aware of the kerfuffle until the car swerved and screeched to a halt. Sally's head hit the window with no small amount of force, and as the car's inside light flickered on, indicating an open door, she saw a spot of blood on the glass. She disregarded it in favour of turning to the commotion in the front seat.

* * *

Dr Lecter had stood stock still in the middle of the lane. He didn't even try and look injured or in need of help, as might be considered "usual practice"; he just stood there, calmly, knowing that the car would either have to swerve or kill him. Either way suited him fine.

He saw the panic in the driver's eye as he came around the bend and saw Lecter there. The moment that the driver of the car jerked the wheel and attention had been diverted from him, Lecter moved swiftly and silently to the driver's door and opened it, with a slight bow, one hand extended to politely gesture to the man to leave. As he did so, he allowed the blade of his harpy to slip forward from his sleeve slightly, the point of it coming to rest on his carpals. The light glinted off it. The woman in the passenger seat saw it and screamed, wrenching open her door and stumbling out of the car. But Lecter had anticipated this, and slammed the door on the driver's leg as he began to climb out, detaining him for the few moments he needed, and seemed to appear from nowhere in front of the woman, blocking her path. Before she could begin contemplating which way to run, Lecter had pulled a police-style truncheon from where he had fastened it inside his dinner jacket and bopped her on the head, just hard enough to knock her unconscious; he didn't want unnecessary damage to her body.

As she fell to the road, Lecter's ears pricked at the sound of footfalls inching around the car towards him and he could smell the remnants of cheap shampoo mixed with good cologne – a gift from a wealthy relative, perhaps. He waited until the air shifted decisively before spinning around to catch the driver's wrist as it flew towards his head. Taking hold of the wrist with his right hand, with his left he grasped the tall man's elbow and twisted the arm backwards until the man cried in pain and he, too, fell. Lecter tapped him on the head with his truncheon, just to be sure, and then returned his attention to the silent car.

* * *

Sally had watched the action with mixed emotions. While she had a fervent desire to help her parents, fear also rooted her to the spot. But there was something more – another, forbidden, emotion buried deep in her mind, which was admiration. A part of her mind noted the efficiency with which this man worked, the way he moved, how he had taken care not to hurt her mother beyond what he needed. This wasn't a reckless, rage-induced killing spree; it was something else. The man was calm. She did not understand. But she wanted to.

All other emotions were banished from her system, however, as the man slowly turned to face her, and she could feel his eyes, eyes that glowed red in the headlights, piercing her, and in that moment the only thing that Sally knew was fear.

The man straightened up and walked leisurely to her door. Sally's eyes stayed locked on his, unable to look away. As he moved out of the light, they grew darker, until they appeared almost black, like blood in the moonlight. The door was opened for her in the same manner as for her father, and, her eyes never leaving his, she climbed out as gracefully as she could, taking the proffered hand to steady herself. Her skin turned to gooseflesh, whether at the cooler air of the night or his touch, she could not tell. He wore thin, black leather gloves. Once Sally was on her feet, he closed the door behind her.

"Good evening," he said.

Sally's eyes widened very slightly. His voice… she could hear that it had once been rich, melodic, European, but now it reminded her of a caged bird let out after years of imprisonment – relishing in the newfound ability to stretch its wings but never able to return to the freedom and ease with which it once flew. But its gentleness also startled her. Here he was, a stranger who was in all probability about to murder her parents and herself for no other reason than that they were there, and yet he greeted her as cordially as if they were to dine together. He smiled, and that too was pleasant. The surreality of the situation warranted a few moments for Sally's brain to adjust itself and work out the correct response.

"Good evening," she replied, as steadily as possible while matching his intimate volume. He nodded slightly, acknowledging her response and grasp of the situation. Her heart pounded against her ribcage, the blood coursing through her veins and making her head throb. She felt dizzy, and thought she must be swaying slightly because the landscape didn't usually roll like that. Her increased heart rate also meant that more blood oozed out of the small wound on her forehead. The man must have noticed her light-headedness, as he moved to her side, offering his arm while pulling out a handkerchief from his breast pocket. Sally took his arm because a) she really was about to faint, and b) if he was going to kill her anyway, taking his arm wouldn't actually change anything or make it worse. The hand holding the handkerchief moved to her forehead and dabbed at the small pool of blood welling there. It was strange, but Sally also felt him move very close to her and, apparently, breathe deeply, inhaling the scent of her blood. The majority of her was confused (she was pretty sure that this wasn't normal serial killer behaviour), but a small and probably slightly hysterical part of her wondered what she smelt like. She turned her head to watch him. He had stopped looking at her, and was now casting his eyes about the car. Sally felt herself being led to the front passenger door, which he opened. He reached inside the car, and a twinge of fear shot through Sally's mind, but his hand only emerged holding her mother's pink water bottle that was sitting in the drink holder. This was opened and brought to her lips, which she obediently opened and immediately felt the cool liquid trickle between them. After a few mouthfuls, which calmed her burning, throbbing head, the water bottle was lowered and replaced in the car.

"Thank you," Sally murmured gratefully. He smiled. She did not know what to make of this man, who was so gentle with her before his murder.

* * *

And Dr Lecter did not know what to make of this girl, who, although riddled with fear, remained lucid and coherent, and responsive to the ministrations of one who, she must surely recognise, was about to take the lives of her and her parents. She reacted approvingly to courtesy and responded appropriately, as so few would, he knew.

The car door remained open, and he helped her inside.

"I hope you will not mind if I bind your wrists and ankles," Lecter said, with genuine concern; he despised the thought of restraining others after being restrained for so many years himself. The girl shook her head, and even obligingly held out her hands. Lecter pulled a length of cord from an inside jacket pocket and tied a complicated looking knot around them. "Not too tight?"

She wriggled her hands a little. Tight enough that she could not escape, but not so tight as to cut into her flesh or disrupt blood flow. The same applied to her ankles, before he shut the car door.

Now to the unconscious parents. Damn, he could have used the girl to help, but never mind. First the back passenger door was opened, and he moved the girl's Walkman to the centre island, out of the way, before returning to the prone body of the mother, who had fortunately not begun to stir. He bound her wrists and ankles with more cord before easily lifting her lithe frame from the ground and carefully depositing her, sitting, in the car. By the time he went to lift the father, the man's eyes were flickering open, so Lecter sighed and pulled out his truncheon, rapping him smartly on the head once again, hitting the spot to put him out with the least amount of force.

Once both parents were back in the car, Lecter moved to the driver's seat, where the key was still in the ignition. After driving the car not twenty yards down the road, he parked and walked back to the spot where it had previously come to rest. The loose gravel of this country road clearly showed where the car had swerved and halted, but was also easily manipulated to appear as though nothing had happened, which Lecter did. It took only a moment. He could feel the girl's eyes on him.

* * *

Sally realised what he was doing and watched his actions in her wing mirror. It was all so carefully planned out. A gravel road that wouldn't show tyre tracks or footprints, a backroad an hour each way to the nearest town, silent so that, if another car came, it could be easily dodged.

As these thoughts ran through Sally's mind, they led her to another thought that frightened her more than anything else that night: he had done this before. This was practiced. He knew precisely what he was doing because this was normal to him now.

What a strange brand of normality.

The car rocked slightly as he slid back into the driver's seat. Sally glanced around at her parents, but they were still unconscious. She noticed the man do the same. He was about to do up his seatbelt when a thought appeared to strike him, and he leaned across her, his gloved hand almost brushing her face, his head coming within inches of her own. She felt her eyelids join involuntarily, and inhaled deeply, before forcing her eyes open to turn and meet his. She did not want to take her eyes off of him for a moment, for reasons other than her fear of his blade. A calm numbness had come over her, and for this she was grateful. The fear was still there, but subdued now, hidden behind a curtain, like Duchamp's Fountain in an art gallery. The two sides of this monster intrigued her, and it was a more pleasant topic to occupy her thoughts than wondering which one of her parents he would kill first.

He remained in that position for a nanosecond longer than was necessary, his eyes never leaving hers, before leaning back to do the seatbelt up, and this gave Sally another idea that she wished she hadn't had – what if his… intentions, shall we say, were not strictly _honourable?_ She swallowed the thought, hard enough to make a small gulping sound. Her eyes were still on his. She wondered if he could guess at the nature of the noise. At that moment, he grinned.

"Do not worry, Sally. I have no intention of ravishing you tonight." She started slightly at his use of her name. "It's written on the label of your cardigan, which is protruding beneath your ponytail."

"Oh," Sally sighed with relief, banishing the thought that maybe this was more targeted than she had originally imagined. The man reached out to her once more and tucked it inside her cardigan, his fingers lightly caressing her neck. The touch sent shivers down her spine, and she hoped that he didn't interpret that as her shying away from him, and then wondered why she cared about his opinion. A click announced that his own seatbelt was done up, before the key turned in the ignition and they set off.

They had been driving for several minutes, taking seemingly random turns that led them almost in circles, before Sally could muster the courage to speak.

"Excuse me, but… where are we going?"

The man's eyes did not leave the road, but she could see a flash of canine behind his lip.

"I could tell you, but then I may have to kill you," he replied slyly. Sally conceded the point. The rest of the trip passed in silence.

* * *

After a ten minute drive that had culminated in a short scenic escapade through a conveniently placed forest, Hannibal Lecter turned off the road and pulled into a small woodland glade. It was not a place he had used before, but after scouting it out over several weeks he had deemed it suitable. The timing was just right – the woman in the backseat was beginning to stir as he switched off the engine. Once again he leaned across Sally as he returned her seatbelt to its former position, moving closer to her than need be. He enjoyed watching her reaction to his presence; it was unusual. Outwardly, she appeared quite calm, but he could smell her fear and sweat. He resolved to help her cool down.

Working in reverse order, he extracted the father from the car first, placing him on a comfortable-looking patch of ground. Little moonlight could be of use this night; a new cycle was beginning and it had hardly begun to wax. But what little there was filtered through the canopy overhead. The main light source was the inside light of the car, which flickered unreliably, in need of a new bulb. The mother was more difficult to remove, as she was wriggling as she woke up and had twisted herself into an awkward position. Soon enough, she was placed next to her now-awakening husband on the earth.

It was then that Lecter allowed his attention to turn back to Sally, who was still sitting quietly in the front seat, although her eyes now showed sadness at the sight of her parents, bound and helpless. Lecter opened her door and slipped one hand behind the small of her back and the other under her knees, flashing her an apologetic glance. Carefully, so as not to hit her head on the door, he lifted her out of the passenger seat, shut the door with his foot, and sat her on the ground, propped against the car.

"I hope you don't mind, but I will have to leave those restraints as they are. Can't have you running off now, can we?" he murmured with a friendly wink.

* * *

Sally was impressed with his strength as he picked her up. She was not as lean as she sould be, she knew, but he moved with ease, with a grace that she would not have expected. Again, his gentleness and the care with which he manoeuvred her shocked her; she still could not match this with the murdering psychopath she knew he would soon be revealed as.

What caught her off guard the most was the wink. It was so genial, as though she were an old friend with whom he had just shared a secret, or, perhaps, a woman he were wooing. Her mind wandered back to her earlier thought about dishonourable intentions. But then she looked back up at him, once more into his eyes, and knew that she could discard it. She saw no longing there. Only a strange emptiness.

"Are you hot?" he asked, jerking her back to reality. She quickly assessed herself and realised that she was sweating, and that yes, actually, she was at a less than comfortable temperature.

"Y-yes," she stammered, cursing herself for letting her voice break. She had been doing so well. Her confusion at how he had anticipated her needs before she even knew she needed them had shown through.

"Then, if you'll excuse me," and with that, he undid the cord around her wrists and reached around her, almost in an embrace, to slip off her cardigan. He folded it and placed it on the roof of the car, before stooping once again to retie her bonds. Sally had been discomforted by her ponytail digging into her as her head rested against the car; he had obviously noticed this as well, and placed one hand on the back of her head to hold her hair and cause minimal pain while the other pulled out her hairtie, which he left on top of her cardigan.

"Thank you," Sally said, gazing up at him, not wanting to be rude; he had shown her kindness, after all. And with a last smile at her and a slight incline of the head, the monster turned away from her and back towards her parents, a knife sliding forth from his sleeve with the handle coming to rest in the palm of his hand. Sally swallowed. She now knew for certain that she would be last, and for this she was glad; she did not want her parents to have to see their daughter murdered. But now she must endure their deaths. This was not going to be easy. She was thankful for the continued emotional numbness, and hoped like hell that it would last.

* * *

As the woman had been the first to rouse herself, Lecter thought he may as well kill her first. But just before he took hold of her head, he paused. This was an entirely new level that he was going to. The others had been people he knew, or knew of, who had slighted him in some way, or, better yet, were serial killers themselves. But random strangers, and one so young as the girl? Is this really what he had become? A reckless killer?

Lecter had not really stopped to think like this in a long time. Not since– well. He did not think on that. It was a survival instinct.

And yet it had driven him to this. This was not healthy. This was not him. He had become so bored by what society had to offer that he had retreated within himself, to his memory palace, where he could live quite comfortably – except when he needed to eat.

This aspect of his personality had inflamed since _she_ left. Caution had been thrown to the winds, and he simply did not care anymore; in the past, before his incarceration and after his escape, his cannibalism had been the only aspect of his life that he had tempered. It was necessary to be careful, if he wished to keep his freedom and find _her_ again. But now… why should he be denied this? To cause others the pain that he had been caused. It was as though every death brought him a little respite, a little revenge, a little bit of Mischa back to him. Maybe, if he killed, if he _ate_ enough, then every piece of her would be avenged and she would be able to come back to him. It seemed as likely as anything else at that point. And anything was worth that.

And this is why Hannibal Lecter found himself standing behind his soon-to-be dinner and disregarding his doubts as the woman screamed and tried to throw herself away from him; but he was too fast for her. He grabbed her hair and jerked her head back, she still screaming, tears coursing over her face as Lecter lowered his hand to her neck and cut her throat in one practiced, fluid movement. A few moments longer and the screaming ceased.

"_NO!_"

Lecter's head turned to the source of the cry and his eyes found Sally, now lying twisted after obviously having tried to launch herself forwards to save her mother. He lowered the still bleeding body to the grass and moved past Sally's stirring father to her. She cringed away from his touch but he continued, and sat her upright against the car once more. Her face was smeared with dirt from where it had hit the ground, and streaked clean by tears. Lecter pulled out his handkerchief from a pocket and cleaned as much as he could without commanding her to '_spit_'. Without saying a word to her, he turned back to her father. The man looked at him with loathing in his eyes, before he spoke for the first time, and there was a glimmer of hope in his voice.

"Please. Show some remorse. Don't kill her," he nodded at Sally. "_Please._" He spoke bluntly, without ornamentation. That sort of thing had no place here.

Lecter heard Sally begin to sob, but did not turn. Instead, he cocked his head, and a strange smile played about his lips, showing his sharp, white teeth. His tongue flicked over his lips, moistening them before he spoke as he stepped towards the father.

"No… I think I _shall_. It would be such a shame to tear a family apart, don't you think?" And with that, a hungry look took over his features and he murdered Sally's father. He let the body fall.

* * *

The tears fell. She let them. Cries emerged from her throat, tearing at her vocal cords. She let them. Sally knew that she needed to get all the emotions out of her system, so she let them emerge unchecked, trying to get it over with as quickly as possible.

As the body of her father landed with a thump on the dry earth, the last tear fell and she swallowed the lump in her throat. Enough now. The monster was inhaling deeply and she knew she had only seconds before his "attentions" were on her. Sally focussed on slowing her heart rate and not being red and puffy-eyed. She was not sure how well she succeeded.

Only a few seconds later, he slowly spun. The moonlight glinting off his blade reflected in his eyes and they flashed blood red in her direction. Sally gulped. He took one step towards her, and then another. Sally knew she had to do something but for the life of her she didn't know what it was. He continued moving towards her and her mind raced, wheels spinning faster with every step he took.

But nothing came. She had no idea what to do. Helpless, alone, Sally was going to die. The man raised his knife.

And brought it down, severing the bonds around her wrists.

There was silence. A pause for a few seconds, and Sally opened her eyes, unsure whether or not she was actually still alive. The man's maroon eyes were still there. This was definitely not heaven.

But it was not hell either.

Ah, life.

Another slash and her feet were free. The man extended his hand and gently helped her to her feet. Sally stood, graciously, and blinked several times. Her hand was still being held. It led her to the middle of the glade. Sally's hand fell as he stepped back. A ray of moonlight fell on her face. He bowed his head for a moment, as if in apology. Sally understood. He was being kind, but this was her end. They both knew it.

She had one chance.

He raised his blade.

"Wait."

She spoke calmly. Her heart raced, but she ignored it. The blade remained in the air. This was invitation enough. She raised her hands in a placating gesture.

"Please. Please, sir, humour me for a moment. I understand what is going on here, at least to a very basic degree. I understand that I am about to die, but, I confess, I do not understand why. This is why I now ask you to stop, and consider – why are you going to kill me? You have already taken my parents, is that not enough?

"But I also realise that I cannot just walk away from this. You could not let me do that; although I swear to you upon my mother's life that I would not breathe a word to anyone – 'it all happened so fast, I must have blacked out, it's too painful' – there would always be a risk, and that's too much.

"And so, I offer myself to you, in exchange for my life. I am yours, to do with what you will – servant, concubine, friend, companion, accessory to the fact; I will do it, and you may know that you can trust me completely as you have given me my life, which I could never repay. I put it to you – and I leave it to you."

Her plea finished, Sally waited. Her heart pounded, too hard, unhealthily, she felt like she was going to be sick but fought back the sensation. She was stronger than that; she had watched the deaths of her parents and pleaded for her own life and she was damned if she would throw up now. For now, there was nothing she could do; only wait. So she waited, and watched his eyes.

* * *

Lecter listened to Sally speak with a blank expression, but inside he allowed himself a smile. She did not falter, despite the fact that he had kept the hand holding the harpy raised threateningly. She had fire, that was for sure, and she could keep it in check, which was even rarer. She also kept a cool head, had a basic grasp of culture, as well as having better English skills than most people twice her age. Perhaps, there was promise there. It may be fun, an amusement to ease the daily monotony. And he could always just kill her at a later date if/when she became tiresome. He held onto that thought. Just because he took her in did not give him any obligation towards her. But better not to let her know his decision just yet; better to see how devoted she was to the cause.

When she had finished speaking, Lecter did not move for several long moments. Then the tip of his tongue appeared, just touching the centre of his upper lip before disappearing back.

"Why do you only appeal now? Why not earlier, to save your parents?" He needed to test her, and thought it best to start small and work his way up. She thought for a moment.

"Because, if I did that, it would be a straight trade, my life for theirs, or one of theirs at least. But then what for them? I would have no way of knowing if you'd even kept to your side and let them live. And then they would have to go through the torture of seeing their only child murdered right in front of them, and live through the pain afterwards. By not speaking earlier and allowing them to die, I know that I gained some power over matters of life and death, which I should not have; but then again, neither should you, so I guess we're even."

_Well done._

"In the first place, once I have given my word then you may trust me to keep it at all costs," Lecter began in reply. "In the second, I commend your bravery and, indeed, your stupidity at choosing to take that burden away from your parents and bear it yourself." Sally shrugged.

"I'll get over it."

Lecter's eyes narrowed.

"Indeed."

For a minute, the only sounds were the sounds made by very small creatures who think that no one's listening.

"And now you freely offer yourself up for a fate 'worse than death'. What would mummy and daddy make of that?" Lecter's eyes bored into Sally's. He was intrigued, but revealed to her only power and hinted at less-than-honourable intentions, of which in truth he had none. She didn't look away, but she did blink more often than perhaps was normal, before slowly shrugging again.

"You may do with me what you will; that is your decision, and not within my power." Her tone of voice was careful, and the doctor read in it what he was meant to: she was willing to be submissive to his every whim, no matter how disdainful, and she gave him permission to have full control over her life. It was an interesting and tempting prospect; but one with which he would tire quickly. Perhaps he could coax some of that fire out of her. That would be much more fun.

"Why should I?" he said, and then his voice changed, to a tone that could puncture steel. "A _girl_ like you, trying to convince the world you are something you're not, and thereby convince yourself? But you can't change what you are, and you know _exactly_ what you are, as well as I do. Desperate to get away from these people who can also see you for what you are, but they don't give you the pity you deserve, and instead they exploit you to breaking point, to the point where you'll do anything to get out, get anywhere, get all the way into the hands of a cannibalistic serial killer and see it as an improvement. You have no physical scars, but your mental ones? They must run deep. How far did they go, hmm? These boys whose approval you so desperately seek, who saw your affection and did not care about the consequences–"

It was at this point that Sally, very emphatically, did not strike him. She did not lash out, did not attempt to hit him in any way, but Lecter could feel the blow her eyes dealt his just as heavily as if she had thrown a wild boar at him. And then she just stood, and he could almost hear the anger draining from her as she strove to find peace once more. He was, dare I say, impressed. And in that moment, his decision was made.

"Dr Hannibal Lecter, at your service," Dr Lecter said, stepping back and executing a low, sweeping, and, above all, overly-dramatic bow. He was pleased to note the slight widening of her eyes at the revelation of his identity. "I dare say you've heard of me."

* * *

Sally cleared her throat, swallowing her fear as understanding gripped her.

"Sally Barron," she said. His dark eyes sparkled.

"Still willing to give yourself up to me?" he asked. Sally nodded slowly. "Goood. Alrighty, then, I accept your offer, and in return you may have your life, at least for a time. However, if you know my name then you know my… how do I put it, my _tendencies_. I accept your plea, but in return you must show me that you are committed…" Sally's mind leapt from conclusion to conclusion and none of them seemed very promising. She waited for him to say more, but he was silent, head cocked to one side, eyes roaming across her features. Almost so suddenly as to make her jump, Dr Lecter turned around, moving towards the body of her mother. He crouched down next to her head. Sally could not see what happened next, but after a few moments he stood up to face her. The knife once again concealed in its resting place up his sleeve, Hannibal "the Cannibal" Lecter held out his hands to her. Sally made very sure that her expression did not change as she looked into them. She looked back over to her mother to confirm, but yes; he held, one in each hand, her mother's cheeks – one for himself, the other clearly for her. _Well_, a small voice said in the back of her mind,_ the cheeks are supposed to be the nicest meat on an animal. Le plus haute cuisine_. Sally blinked slowly a few times, before raising her eyes to his face. He was watching her calmly, waiting for her reaction. At last, Sally spoke.

"Can I have it cooked?"


End file.
